She sits up against me. Cole kneels behind her, pulls her shirt over her head, and unclasps her bra. His hands settle on her shoulders. Mine stay on her waist. She is between us, my grip at her waist and Cole’s hands on her shoulders, and for a moment we just hold her there, a shared possession. The air in the room shifts, charged and silent.
Cole moves first, shifting out from behind her and settling beside her on the mattress.
“Lie back,” I tell her.
“Make me.”
I press her shoulders into the mattress. She goes, letting me push her down, her eyes holding mine the whole way, chin lifted even as her shoulders meet the mattress. The defiance in her gaze hits low in my stomach. Cole’s hand slides down her stomach. She lifts her hips, and he strips her jeans and underwear in one pull. The fabric whispers away, and then she’s bare between us.
I stay above her and look down.
“You’re staring,” she says.
“I’m appreciating,” I say.
“Appreciate faster,” she says.
“No.” I trace my finger from her collarbone to her navel. Slow. Her stomach contracts, a flutter of muscle under smooth skin. “I just won a championship. I’m taking my time.”
“Dante—”
“You said get over here. I’m here.” My finger traces lower, over her hip, down her thigh, past where she wants it. Her breath hitches. “You said come get me. I’m getting you.”
“I hate you.”
“You love me,” I say.
“Both. Simultaneously. It’s exhausting,” she says.
Cole shifts beside her, his mouth finding her breast. She arches, a sharp, beautiful curve of her spine. My hand slides between her thighs, finally, and her breath catches, her eyes fluttering shut. She’s already wet, hot, and my own pulse kicks hard against my ribs.
“Cole,” I say.
He lifts his head and looks at me. His eyes meet mine, dark and knowing.
“Your turn.”
His eyes darken further. He shifts down her body and kisses her stomach, her hip, the inside of her thigh. She opens for him, and his mouth settles between her legs, and her hand flies to his hair, and the sound she makes is raw, unfiltered, a punch of air that makes my cock ache.
I watch.
Cole’s hands spread her thighs wider. His mouth finds the rhythm that makes her fingers twist in the sheets. He changes pressure, changes angle. Her back arches off the mattress, hips rolling as the sounds sharpen, climb higher, break into gasps.
I’m hard. Aching. The game is still under my skin, and Cole’s head is between her legs, Maya’s face open, her mouth parted, her body lifting into the mouth that knows it best. I watch the flush spread across her chest, watch her teeth sink into her lower lip, watch the moment her control starts to fray. It’s a beautiful, brutal thing to witness—Cole wrecking her, and her letting him.
I shift beside her, my lips at her ear. “How does he feel?”
Her eyes open. Glazed. “What?”
“Cole. His mouth on you. Right now. Tell me what it feels like.”
“You want a play-by-play? Right now?” Maya asks, her voice strained.
“I want to hear you say it.” My hand closes over her breast and rolls the nipple. She gasps. “While he’s doing it.”
“That’s, fuck, that’s cruel, Dante,” she says.
“Kindness was never the point.”
